


2 0 4 8 6 3

by breadpoetsociety (orphan_account)



Series: voltron writing challenges week 2k17 [3]
Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fear, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Smut, and there's some gay too, but it's fun i promise, drunk game playing, i guess they're pining, i guess they're youtubers or twitch streamers, it all just kind of happened, its just kind of a fun romp ya know, the gang plays pt and is scared, there's a lot of spooky stuff in here honestly, tipsy boning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9922871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/breadpoetsociety
Summary: In August 2014, four friends returned home from a night of drinking to play the demo for Silent Hills. They were never heard from again. This footage is all that remains from that night… Their descent into madness.voltron writing challenges week days 3 and 4: au/free day





	

**Author's Note:**

> hahahahahaha i am so late doing this but it’s long so i’m counting it for both days. this was inspired by (and is practically a transcript of) the real scary games squad’s playthrough of silent hills, feat. jesse cox, the completionist and greg, and davis. 
> 
> enjoy!

“All right, guys. Everyone has a fresh beer. Snacks are at the ready, stream is live. It is time.”

Lance settled down at the end of the couch, sandwiched between his three friends and the armrest. A tangle of wires sat below their tangle of legs, leading from television to Playstation to Macbook balanced precariously on a speaker. 

“What up, gamers,” he started speaking into the microphone on the table in front of them, framed by Cheetos and bottles and bottles of beer. The camera atop the TV blinked red: recording. “It’s your boy Lance and I’m here with your favorite scary games squad. I have Keith, Pidge at the helm, and because I wanted to make him suffer too, Hunk is here.” 

“We’ve had a frew brews,” Hunk said. “And we’re going to play some PT so this should be an… Interesting night.” Lance laughed and reached around Keith and Pidge to bump his best friend in the shoulder, earning a nervous smile. 

“Ok, so what even is this?” Keith said, tucking his phone under his thigh. Tweets and Twitch messages were already rolling in, commenting on their livestream, but he was going in blind.

“Did you not hear?” Pidge started clicking her way through the title screen. “Kojima is making a Silent Hill game.”

“No way,” the corners of Keith’s mouth quirked up.  

“Yeah, so this whole thing is like– it’s like a teaser trailer for it,” Lance continued. “It’s like a fake game with a secret ending and stuff.”

“So we’re going to get the secret ending,” Pidge said. Hunk groaned.

“Kojima said he was going to make a game that will make you shit your pants,” he laughed nervously. “I hear this is one of the scariest games in years.”

“And it’s  _ just _ a teaser trailer. Nice,” Keith said. The green trees of the title screen gave way to black background and white text, read aloud by Lance: “ _ Watch out. The gap in the door… It’s a separate reality. The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you? _ ”

The player character wakes up, blinking. A cockroach twitches on screen in front of their face– too close. Hunk already looked queasy. Pidge started to explore the little room they were in– almost too dark to see anything, save for the battered wooden door under a flickering fluorescent light. 

“Nothing in here,” Pidge muttered, circling around the claustrophobic room one more time. “Let’s move forward.” 

“I’m kind of pissy you spoiled that it’s Silent Hill,” Keith said dryly. “Since you said  _ secret _ ending and all that.”

“It doesn’t matter, you already knew it was gonna be a spooky scary game,” Lance nudged Keith with his elbow, earning a half-hearted glare. Lance winked back and Keith thanked god that they were playing this with the lights off.

Pidge moved the character forward, through the creaky door, to reveal a dimly lit hallway. The walls were beige, and dirty, with a painting every few feet. The clock read 23:59. Beer bottles and wrappers littered the dusty floor– it seemed the cleaning lady hadn’t been around for a while.

“A minute to midnight,” Pidge confirmed, moving forward excruciatingly slowly, zooming the camera in on every painting and potted plant. One photograph was ripped, showing only the bottom half of a woman’s face.

“I have such a horrible sense of unease right now,” Lance laughed, running his hands nervously up and down his thighs, wrinkling the baby blue fabric of his shorts. “I immediately regret agreeing to do this.”

“We haven’t even seen anything yet,” Keith scoffed. “Besides, if it’s anything like your  _ last  _ scariest game ever, it’s not going to be that scary.”

“Five Nights at Freddy’s was startling and you know it,” Lance scowled. Pidge reached the end of the hallway, a sharp right turn leading towards the second half.

“Wait, don’t turn, don’t turn, don’t turn– ah!” Lance yelped when Pidge ripped the bandaid off, revealing a foyer and a lowly speaking radio. 

“ _ Several days before the murders, neighbors say they heard the father repeating a sequence of numbers in a loud voice. They said it was like he was chanting some strange spell _ .”

“You can’t turn like that without discussing it with everyone, Pidge,” Lance squawked, drawing everyone’s rapt attention from the screen to him. “That corner is jumpscare central!”

“Good thing jumpscares aren’t scary.”

“They’re  _ startling _ , Keith.” 

“This is horrifyingly beautiful,” Hunk muttered from the end of the couch, interrupting the bickering pair. “It looks almost like a movie.”

Pidge tried the bathroom door– locked. The front door– locked. One door remained, wide open at the end of the hallway and leading downstairs to a closed door. Pidge led the character down, checking under the stairs for monsters at Lance’s behest. 

“Ok, Lance, we’re going to go through this door now,” she said dryly. “Prepare yourself.”

“Come on, Hunk needs the warning as much as I do,” Lance half-laughed.

“He’s not wrong,” Hunk said. Pidge just nodded, clicking the shoulder buttons of her controller– force of habit. “Go ahead, Pidge.”

The group tensed together. Pidge opened the door and each of them inhaled, ready to scream when–

“What the fuck?” Lance sputtered. He doubled over, leaning on his thighs to peer closer at the screen. “This is the same  _ fucking hallway _ .” 

“Oh, great,” Hunk groaned. “Looping hallways. That’s not ominous.” 

“What’s that on the ground?” Lance pointed at the shiny hardwood floor, inspecting some sort of puddle there. “A bunch of alcohol? Great. Well, I’m gonna take a sip of my beer.”

“I’m going to throw up,” Hunk said quickly. “I’m gonna throw up I’m so scared. If I throw up do I get to leave? I’m so startled.”

Pidge rolled her eyes and continued moving through the hallway, silent, focused, leaving the three boys around her to to act like fools for their viewers while she progressed. She walked past the paintings, past the clock at 23:59, past the telephone and the table covered in pills and chocolate candies, past the bathroom door when–

_ Bang bang bang bang.  _

Lance and Hunk shrieked, and Keith even looked a little unnerved. 

“Oh, fuck, that moved!” Hunk said. He hit Pidge’s shoulder and pointed at the now-still bathroom door.

“Maybe it was the roach,” Keith deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Pidge and an indignant shove from Lance. They continued marching on, tense and quiet.

Pidge moved forward into the main room. The radio was silent and the only sound was a high-pitched squeal, coming from the swinging lamp above them. She explored around the dark wooden door, the dingy walls- nothing stood out for her. 

“Oh god,” Lance’s hands flew up to his face as he suddenly cried out. “There are coats on the rack!” Everyone turned to stare at Lance before laughing. 

“Th-there were coats there before,” Hunk laughed nervously, eyes trailing back to the screen.

“I know,” Lance said through his hands, pale in the blue light of the television. He started laughing at himself. “But it got me that time.” 

Keith glanced at Lance out of the corner of his eye and sighed, picking up his beer. “You have had too much to drink. Let’s keep going.”

Through the door. Another loop.

“I think I’m more comfortable going through the door this time,” Lance said, grabbing a couple of Girl Scout Cookies from the snack table in front of him.

“I’m not comfortable at all,” Hunk said, half out of nerves and half out of gaming knowledge. “Nothing’s really happened. Something’s gotta happen.”

Lo and behold: something was to happen. Pidge moved quickly through the loop this time, tempting the hand of fate to close the door they usually excited from. Something else creaked from behind them.

“Oh, shit,” Pidge breathed. Turning around, she realized that the bathroom door had cracked open. A massive amount of cockroaches swarmed out of it and around the door. Now  _ that  _ was disconcerting. “Oh. Shit.”

“This game is torturing you,” Lance laughed, nervously watching Pidge lead them back towards the bathroom door. “Why are we going this way? Why are we doing this?”

“I’m gonna throw up, I’m so nervous,” Hunk said again, taking apprehensive sips of his beer. 

“Yeah, I should not have eaten that massive calzone,” Keith said, also now looking unnerved– he didn’t mind horror games, but this seemed next level. Almost playing the players. 

The door remained cracked, and Pidge muttered something about how she’s only able to zoom and not much else. Baby cries suddenly crackled over the speakers, along with pained breathing sounds.

“Is someone in there?” Keith asked, tempted to just take the controller from Pidge and  _ move _ .  

“Oh, shit,” Lance whispered. “There’s someone in there and it’s gonna eat your face. And there’s nowhere to go but in there! That’s asshole! Oh, that’s asshole!”

“What do you want me to do?” Pidge asked the group, twiddling the joysticks. 

“Just go in the fucking door, man,” Keith demanded. He was suddenly very aware of all the windows in the room– both digital and literal. 

“Don’t go in there!” Lance screeched. “Remember. The radio! He shot that girl in the bathroom! You’re going to get shot in the bathroom!”

“We might have to go in if we want to progress,” Keith threw an indignant hand towards the screen. “Pidge, come on.”

“I can’t, I can’t go in,” Pidge said, zooming in on the dark crack between the door and its jamb more. “I don’t have an action button, I can’t–”

But a white-faced woman interrupted Pidge, giving a terrifying scowl to the now-screaming group and slamming the door shut.

“Oh, what the fuck was that?” Lance yelped. He had a tight grip on Keith’s bicep now. 

“I have no idea,” Pidge was unnervingly calm. Jumpscares didn’t get her, apparently. “A woman? My brain didn’t totally register it before it was gone.”

Pidge backed up from the now-closed bathroom and saw that the exit had swung open again– pointed out helpfully by Hunk.

“The door’s open!” He yelled. “The door’s open!”

“Never has a man been so sure of anything than that door being open,” Lance laughed, breaking the tension just a little bit. Pidge had swung the camera around again, looking at the ground around the phone table.

“What are you doing?” Lance asked. “The man said it. Door’s open.” 

“Just looking for something. Anything,” Pidge responded, focused. The ground was littered with dust mites, spilled pills and candies, a dirty plush toy, unnervingly photorealistic. Pidge seemed to notice something in the far right corner, when suddenly the screen flashed red and some words faded on the screen.

“What the hell was that?” Hunk screeched, hands clutching the couch around him.

“A piece of paper,” Pidge said, searching around nearby as though to replicate what just happened. After a moment she almost shot out of his seat. “That picture! That ripped up picture. That must be a part of it!”

“Do you think that’s how we get the ending?” Lance too sat up straighter, excited. “Finding the puzzle pieces of the picture?”

“We gotta look on the ground everywhere,” Keith said. “Every nook and cranny, right?” Pidge hummed her agreement and continued to search around the table, moving through the hallway with an eye on the floor– nothing so far, so down the stairs they went. 

The fear had turned mostly into excitement. But everyone still held their breath as they went through the exit door– to reveal the hallway yet again. 

“Okay, this is kind of skeeving me out,” Lance spoke up again to fill the silence. He finally let go of Keith’s arm, but scooted a little closer to him so their knees knocked together. 

“Kind of,” Hunk muttered. 

“This has set a tone better than any other game I’ve ever seen,” Keith said, willing himself once fucking again to not blush. His eyes were locked to the screen. The lights were dimmer the farther they walked.

“The tone is pants-shitting,” Lance added on helpfully. His left hand ran compulsively through his hair, eyes tracking the player and searching for anything new. “I want to die.”

“Hang on, is the floor wet?” Pidge asked, squinting. Her glasses reflected the screen. And some new sound was making itself known, but she just couldn’t place what it was. 

Hunk hummed. “It does look kind of wet.”

“No, it’s blast processing,” Lance said.

Keith couldn’t help it– his laugh ripped from his lungs and tumbled out his mouth. He turned and caught Lance’s bright grin, staring at him as he sputtered, “It’s  _ blast processing _ .” 

“Keep looking in the corners,” Lance said through his smile, still looking at Keith. “I want to keep finding those picture pieces–”

“Wait, wait,” Pidge cut him off. The sounds were getting louder: labored breaths, and pained, breathy sobs. “Is that baby crying? What is that noise?”

“I have no idea,” Hunk said nervously, but he still leaned closer to the speakers to try to get a better idea. Pidge mumbled a whatever and directed her attention to the clock’s alcove. It was almost too dark to see anything, but she could barely make out some empty bottles, torn paper, and a potted plant. 

“Is that another piece?” Keith said, squinting at the plant. Pidge zoomed in and– a flash of red, another foreign language.

“Ha! We’re figuring your shit out, Kojima!” Pidge yelled, pumping her fist.

“Yeah, we’re on to you,” Lance said exultantly. 

“Even though we skilled through the first few pieces,” Keith muttered, even as Pidge found another photo fragment among the empty bottles. 

“What up, Kojima, what you got!” Lance yelled into Keith’s ear, making him wince. 

“But what does this all mean, though?” Keith said forcefully, right back at Lance. 

“It’s putting the thing together, I have no idea,” he shrugged, not allowing Keith’s confusion to interrupt his celebration. Lance took another drink, leaning into Keith a little more as he did. 

“Okay, okay, okay, okay,” Hunk was chanting to himself as Pidge continued through the hallway. The sobbing sounds were growing louder, along with a high-pitched whistle. No cliché violins here. 

Pidge headed slowly around the corner, and the group screamed. Standing in the foyer was a figure: tall, dark, unmoving, and lit only by the swinging lamp above it. It seemed to be sheathed in a white dress, but her face was cloaked in shadow. And the pained sobs of a woman grew louder still. 

“Okay, do not go towards that,” Lance said, voice emotionless. His face was drained of color and he couldn’t look away.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Hunk added. Pidge swung the camera between the figure, and the hallway to the right of them. They couldn’t exit without going through her. But could they go through her?

“Let’s not do this, please, please,” Lance pleaded, hands twisting together nervously now. “Let’s go back the other way.” 

Pidge started walking back the way they came, and then turned to head back to the foyer. “Maybe she’s gone?” she said quietly, almost to herself. 

“Oh, no” Lance despaired.

“Rush her,” Keith finally found his voice after the initial shock. “Rush the bitch.”

“We should not rush the bitch,” Lance said, putting a hand on Keith’s thigh as if to stop him from jumping through the television himself. “We should try and like… think logically.”

Pidge stepped forward, closer to the bathroom, to just inspect the woman– but then the foyer lights went dark. Her cries were almost thunderous now, booming through the speakers and making Hunk flinch.

“Oh, hell no,” he said, hiding his face in his hands. “Oh, hell no.”

“This is pain. This is true pain,” Lance lamented. 

“Come on, fuck it,” Keith turned to Pidge and bent forward to try to catch her eye. “Just rush the bitch.”

“All right,” Pidge said lowly, staring back at Keith seriously. “But if we die I will kill you.”

She moved them forward quickly, ripping off the band-aid– and as soon as they made it to the middle of the foyer, the lights turned back on again, revealing no woman but a mass of cockroaches swarming the walls. Hunk dry-heaved. Lance just stared wide-eyed and silent, breath caught in his throat. 

The entire group let out a sigh, but it didn’t do much to relieve the tension.

“Let’s,” Pidge cleared her throat and tried to speak more authoritatively. “Let’s, um, at least still look for pieces.” Everyone nodded– Lance unfreezing– as Pidge started inspecting around the radio.

“Is that– no, candy bar wrapper,” Keith muttered. He had started to point, but dropped his hand back down to the couch. Lance’s hand burned beside his, as though begging to be held– but the gay must be resisted.  

“Is that a piece? Or a leaf?” Lance’s focus was entirely on the screen now. Keith watched him out of the corner of his eye– jaw set, eyes squinted, brow furrowed in focus. Handsome even in fear. “That’s a leaf.”

“Is there anything above you?” Keith asked, tearing his eyes away from the boy on his left. Lance whimpered as Pidge swung the camera up with no warning, right hand finding Keith’s left and awkwardly seizing it. The movement just revealed just the swinging light and a second-floor balcony surrounding them. 

“Every time you look up, Lance loses his shit,” Hunk laughed, leaning around Pidge to look at his friend.

“I’m on high alert,” Lance defended himself, scratching the back of his neck.

“High enough alert to swiftly grab Keith’s hand,” Pidge said snarkily. “That’s the best part.”

Keith snatched his hand back and held it to his chest, somehow afraid Lance was going to run off with it.

“Huh?” he tried to play innocent, but Hunk and Pidge just cackled. Lance, too, laughed good-naturedly, and Keith couldn’t help looking at him. He tried not to read into the pink flush appearing under his freckles, or the disappointed look he gave to the spot on the couch between them. 

Pidge rolled her eyes and continued walking through. She searched the coat rack and decided to move on, stomping down the stairs and through the looping door. Nothing much seemed to have changed in this loop– lights still low, walls still dirty, clock still reading 23:59.

Pidge zoomed in on the picture, noting the two new pieces added to it– and the poem at the bottom. “ _ My voice, can you hear it. This sign, can you read it. I’ll wait forever if you just come to me. _ ”

“Spooky,” Lance said, having regained some of his confidence. He had pulled a knee up to his chest, the other leg bouncing next to Keith’s. 

Pidge walked forward, the group silent, until the sound of a door creaking open prompted a scream from Hunk.

“What is that,” he said as they rounded the corner, past the telephone. “Is that the bathroom door?”

“Go in,” Lance demanded, leg somehow shaking even faster. “Go the fuck in, I want to see what’s in there.”

“Lance finally grows a pair of balls,” Keith muttered, tempted to put a hand on his leg to stop it from vibrating so much, to calm him down.

“Just go the fuck in, I want to end this,” Lance didn’t let Keith’s comments stop him from encouraging Pidge, who was inspecting the ceiling around them for more photo fragments.

“We want to beat it, not end it,” she muttered, focused. But she aimed the camera down and headed for the bathroom, where something was flickering on the floor. Pidge grinned: “A flashlight!”

But as Pidge zoomed in to pick up the flashlight– animation fucking smooth as butter– there was another creaking noise. Pidge panickedly turned to reveal their fate: locked in a dingy bathroom.

“Oh, fuck,” Hunk groaned, pale. Lance made a frustrated noise and threw his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees– but at least his leg had stopped shaking. 

“I guess we explore in here, then,” Pidge said. There was a nervous edge to her voice. The bathroom was tiny. Claustrophobic, almost, with a bathtub full of green and dirty water taking up the left half of the room. The tiles were grubby and the walls were splattered with… something. And the friendly neighborhood cockroaches made an appearance again.

Pidge swung the flashlight around and Hunk yelped, “Don’t look in the mirror. Don’t, mirrors are always death.”

She sighed, but acquiesced, inspecting the green tiles of the bath. There was a hole carved into the middle of the wall above the tub.

“Hey, look, a gloryhole,” Lance said, peeking up through his fingers, a shaky smile on his face. Now it was Keith’s turn to groan. The camera turned to the bloody floor, to the toilet, then to the sink, decorated with orange pill bottles and–

“Wait, what the fuck is that,” Pidge said softly, stepping closer to inspect whatever was in it. Something red. “Is that a rat?”

“Oh, god,” Hunk cried out as they got closer, revealing some sort of bloody, red creature– like it had been skinned, or never had skin in the first place. You could practically see its heart beating through its thin membrane as it writhed in the filthy sink. “Is that a… what the fuck is that?”

“It looks like a jellybean with a face,” Lance said, trying to make light of the situation. But the color had drained from his face and his jaw was slack. Keith didn’t complain when Lance leaned his head against his shoulder, looking for comfort. 

“More like a kidney with a mouth,” Keith opined, but then the mouth opened and it let out an infant’s wail. Lance jumped up off the couch, knocking over an empty bottle and pointing at the screen.

“It’s the  _ fetus _ !” he shouted, voice hoarse. Hunk and Keith looked up at him, concerned, but Pidge just nodded with her eyes wide. “From the radio report! The woman he shot! She was pregnant!”

The baby cried louder, along with the familiar sounds of the dying woman sobbing. Lance collapsed back onto the couch, hands running through his hair nervously. Hunk had his arms wrapped around himself and Pidge was curled up into a little ball. 

Something was jiggling the door handle now, violently creaking it. The crying and the sobbing and the whistling all got louder and louder and louder and louder until–

The door cracked open. And they stopped.  

“This is fucking me up,” Lance said seriously. Everyone nodded and Pidge led them out of the bathroom, quickly down the stairs and into another loop, not even bothering to search for another piece. 

“I’m drinking,” Keith muttered darkly, drowning his fear in beer.

“Good idea, Keith, drink break,” Lance said, throwing his arms out and directing the attention away from the screen. “Drink break. Alcohol break.”

The four of them took a long swig of beer together and the boys started attacking the snack table while Pidge brought them through the hallway. A pleased sound– Pidge zoomed in on another puzzle piece tucked into the corner of the ceiling, framed by crown molding.

More inspection of paintings, of the windows, the dark wood of the front door. No photo piece in the plant by the radio or by the lamp, but Pidge did find another photo piece by looking underneath the stairs leading to the exit door. She walked forward and headed into another loop.

“Oh you just jumped into that,” Hunk said accusingly, pointing a finger at Pidge. “That was not a group decision.”

“It  _ made  _ me, dude,” Pidge replied, waving the controller at him before turning back to the game. She zoomed in on everything now, looking for any sorts of clues. The lady’s breathing was back again– not exactly comforting.

“This is exactly the kind of house layout I want,” Lance took another sip of his beer. “Just. Endless hallways.”

“Wait, quiet, the radio is back on again,” Hunk said quickly. He was twisting the strings of his hoodie together, tying and untying compulsively. 

“It sounds,” Keith allowed the deep radio voice to speak for a moment. It grew louder the closer Pidge walked to it, as she edged past the clock and the phone. “Oh, like it’s just saying the same thing as before.”

“ _ The father purchased the rifle used in the crime at his local gun store two days earlier. This brutal killing took place while the family was gathered at home… Don’t touch that dial now, we’re just getting started _ .”

Keith jolted up. “No. It’s not the same. And why is your shadow glitching out like that?”

“For the love of god do not look behind you,” Lance said in a monotone voice. Pidge silently obeyed Lance’s instruction, bringing their character through the hallway, past the bathroom. She stopped at the radio’s table, zooming around for anything new. 

The radio kept chattering, chanting numbers in a loud voice: “ _ 204863. _ ” Hunk shivered. 

“Pidge,” now Lance was sitting up, leaning closer to the television. “Pidge, look at the picture.”

“Gouge it out?” Pidge read slowly. A blue X was drawn under that messy scrawl. Pidge eyed the photograph warily and started backing up, heading for the exit, but Lance reached over and nudged her shoulder. 

“No, wait. Try hitting the X button,” his voice was curious, confident. Pidge clicked– and the eye of the photograph exploded with something gooey. Hunk gasped, throwing a hand over his mouth. 

“Nice, Lance,” Pidge said lowly. Lance tried to throw on a confident smirk but lost it when he refocused on the still-speaking radio. Everything was happening all at once. 

“ _ The girl was found shot once in the chest from point-blank range. The mother, who he shot in the stomach, was pregnant at the time. Police _ …  _ Look behind you _ .”

“Do  _ not  _ turn around,” Keith immediately replied, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. His nerves were frazzled now. 

“ _ I said, look behind you _ .”

Keith’s left hand darted out, almost of its own accord, and grabbed Lance’s with a vice-like grip. Lance opened his mouth to make what was sure to be a clever quip– everyone had just been mocking him for being grabby not five minutes ago– but the joke died on his tongue as soon as he realized how pale Keith was, how wide his dark eyes were.

Lance squeezed his hand and Keith started breathing again. 

“Okay, we still need to find two pieces,” Lance said slowly, trying to calm himself as much as Keith. “Do we go into another loop or keep looking?”

“I bet you there’s a piece in the bathroom,” Keith said, voice firm but eyes still wide. Hunk shook his head but didn’t offer any other suggestions. “But start a new loop.”

“That is darker than it has ever been,” Hunk said as they headed down the stairs and towards the exit door.

“Woah, wait!” Lance almost yelled this time, leaning forward and dragging Keith with him. “There’s text up there!”

Pidge aimed the flashlight above the door, revealing chicken scratch in what looked like permanent marker: “ _Forgive me, Lisa, there’s a monster inside of me_.”

“Well, as long as he doesn’t let it out, that’s okay,” Lance said. He was met with a chorus of groans and a squeaky door– Pidge started yet another loop. 

“Can we take a break? I feel like we need a proper break,” Hunk asked, standing up to stretch and grab another six pack. 

“You just did but… Go ahead,” Pidge replied, pausing the game with a dramatic sound. “I’m going to keep looking for pieces as soon as I get the brightness up a little bit. I can hardly fucking see.”

She sat back on the couch, stretching her shoulder blades together and tucking her feet under her, criss-cross applesauce. The pause screen was a nice break from the same hallway. Pidge twiddled with the controller, pressing all the buttons out of habit, but as soon as she hit the shoulder buttons the screen brightened dramatically and zoomed in.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Pidge said, incredulous. She took off her glasses to wipe her eyes before peering closer. “There was a fucking picture piece hidden in the options menu?”

“What?” Lance looked up from whatever he was wrapped up with on his phone– Twitter or a drug deal, the world may never know. Hunk came back in with more beers and a dropped jaw, while Keith just crossed his arms, impressed.

“Fucking Kojima,” he chuckled softly.

“Fucking Kojima is right,” Pidge jumped up from her seat now, throwing her hands towards the screen. “How would anyone find that?”

“You did,” Lance pointed out. Pidge harrumphed and sank back into the couch, clicking the joysticks again and exiting the pause menu. The screen was imperceptibly brighter, and Pidge headed past the clock again. Nothing had changed so far. The group had decompressed, slightly. 

Lance had one leg back up on the couch, resting his chin on his knee, while the other knocked against Keith’s. Keith was leaning forward, hands tapping restlessly against his thighs, and Hunk got comfortable again on the right end of the couch with a new beer and a bag of chips.

“That swinging light is just unsettling,” Lance muttered as Pidge shuffled into the foyer. Keith opened his mouth to make fun of Lance’s word choice– unsettling?– when something crashed down and the group screeched.

“Fuck!” Lance yelled, his voice jumping several octaves and his hand flying out to grab Keith’s yet again, squeezing it tightly. Keith’s heart was going a mile a minute, and his other hand had flown over his chest, as though he could slow it down that way. 

“Damn it!” Pidge yelled, who still somehow moved forward to inspect what happened. “What was that?”

“Was that a window? It fell from somewhere up there,” Hunk said. Pidge zoomed up as best she could, confirming Hunk’s suspicion that a window toppled down and shattered. 

“Well, I’m fucking back in scared mode,” Lance said. Keith’s thumb was on his wrist, and he could feel his heartbeat drumming quickly. He exhaled forcefully, trying to regain that fragile sense of calm, but it was near impossible: “That brought me right back in the zone.” 

“Hey, look, more writing,” Pidge noticed, directing the flashlight to the wall by the coats where the same messy scrawl from before tattooed the wall. “ _I can hear them calling to me from_...?”

“Oh, Silent Hill,” Lance declared, filling in the blank.

“From Silent Hill?” Keith drew his brows together and pursed his lips in disbelief. Pidge continued the loop, opening the exit door and starting all over. The clock still read 23:59. 

“Dude, yeah,” Lance’s confidence didn’t waver even as Pidge brought them through the hallway, darker and darker still. “This game is about Silent Hill. What else would it be?”

“Whatever,” Keith muttered, growing a little more comfortable in their banter. He felt as though he should let go of Lance’s hand, started mentally preparing himself to pull away– but Lance suddenly laced their fingers together. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith could see him stiffen.

“Wait, wait, what is that,” he was saying, tone panicked. The foyer’s light was red now– already unsettling, red is never good in a horror game– and there was some sort of sloshing noise coming from a different room– the bathtub? 

“Is that... water?” Hunk whispered, glancing nervously at Lance. 

Pidge continued to walk through the hallway, slower than ever before. The four couldn’t help but lean closer to the television, saturated and dark.

The sloshing got louder.

“Don’t look up,” Lance begged. But Pidge ignored him, making it to the foyer and peering where the lamp usually swung. Instead, it was a refrigerator, hung by an intricately tied rope. Blood seeped out of a hole in the top corner. The baby was crying again.

Hunk immediately got up and left the room, muttering something about being queasy. A perturbed Keith opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the half-muffled radio:

“ _ After killing his family, the father hung himself with a garden hose they had in the garage _ .” 

“Holy fuck, did you guys hear that?” Lance used his free hand to push his hair off his forehead, blue eyes meeting Keith’s, unblinking and terrified. “An  _ umbilical _ cord?”

“I don’t understand,” Hunk whined, reentering the room with a little more color to his face now. “What is the lesson here?”

“It’s almost more horrifying that it doesn’t make any sense,” Keith muttered, unthinkingly rubbing his thumb over Lance’s. Pidge was starting to curl into Keith’s other side, Hunk squeezing them all together, to remind themselves that this wasn’t real.

“Oh, god, it’s so dark,” Lance said. “That is darker than it has ever been. It’s so fucking dark.”

“You’re hyping this up too much,” Pidge said, without any gumption. She swung the flashlight back and forth, trying to decide which way to go– under the leaking fridge, then through the creaky exit door, and another loop begins. 

“I want to play,” Keith said, but Pidge held the controller close to her, and brought the character to the clock’s alcove to search among the bottles for clues. All of the lights were red now, keeping everyone on edge.

“I want to go home,” Lance mused to himself. He groaned and flopped onto Keith, head on Pidge’s lap now and legs over the armrest of the couch, Pidge smiling wryly down at him before focusing back on the game. 

“Lance,” Hunk said with a snort. He pointed a finger at the screen but dropped it when Pidge revealed nothing in that corner. “Your leg is up in the air. Is that how scared you are?”

Keith quirked an eyebrow, looking down at the Cuban. “Are you trying to kick the screen?” But then a baby cried distantly, and Lance whined.

“This game is torturing you,” Lance said. The baby’s screams were more violent now, but no louder– almost muffled, like someone was tormenting it in an adjacent room. Pidge brought them past the phone and peered into the foyer. The bloody fridge was swinging wildly now, back and forth. Something was trying to escape.

“I feel ill,” Hunk said, clutching his stomach. Ghostly sounds– the breathing from before– joined in the baby’s cry.

“Just fucking get out of here, man,” Lance said lowly, staring up at Pidge, visibly discomforted– more by the baby than anything else. Pidge obliged and ran under the fridge again, through the door.

Yet another loop. Every light still red. The baby still screamed. 

“We haven’t really searched around the phone table,” Keith said, trying to bring the group from fear to focus– well, himself, too. “Try there. Or the bathroom.”

Pidge slowly moved forward, clutching her controller in an iron grip. She reached the corner, turning to inspect the table. Lance shot up from his sideways position.

“ _Hello_?” he yelled, pointing at the scribbled word right above the phone. It was much messier handwriting than they were used to, in all caps, looking like it was scrawled in a rush. “Hello!”

“Has that been there the whole time?” Keith asked, rubbing the spot on his legs where Lance had been laying. It felt cold now.

“I feel like that’s new. I feel like we haven’t gotten  _ hello _ before,” the startled Lance said just as the noises ceased. All that remained was the footsteps of the protagonist. “And… it’s quiet now.”

Pidge hummed, curious as she waved her flashlight towards the bathroom. They could see the corner of the bloody fridge still swinging violently, but with a silent soundtrack. Their character moved to reinspect the “ _ Hello! _ ”, but the two middle letters were missing now.

“What the fuck,” Hunk whispered. Lance was touching Keith’s leg again, long fingers digging into his thigh. “Hi-lo?”

“I can’t do this,” Lance muttered. He looked like he was going to be sick. Pidge tested it, turning the flashlight back and forth until all that remained of the handwriting was “ _ O! _ ”

“I can’t do this,” Lance repeated, as Pidge led their protagonist down the hallway and to the foyer, when she gasped. 

“No! What the fuck!” Hunk yelled. On the wall, it now read: “ _ I can hear them calling to me from HELL.”  _ And as Pidge zoomed in, sound suddenly sound broke through the speakers– a manic woman’s laugh. 

“Oh, shit, I can’t do this, I legit can’t do this,” Lance complained, shaking his head. “This got fucked again.”

“I’m back to that barfy feeling,” Hunk said plaintively. 

“We’re all in barf zone,” Pidge replied. She led them down the stairs, checking under them for anything new, and started a new loop. Red lights, still silent, flashlight revealing the familiar paintings and beige walls and clock and–

“Oh, shit,” Lance whispered, voice cracking. “It’s zero o’clock.”

“There is no zero o’clock,” Keith said, staring at Lance with wide eyes. Lance just stared back at him, torn between fear and mockery and melting at Keith’s adorable worried face. Mostly fear, though– something was playing from the radio again, a voice deep and unidentifiable. There was music playing under it, too.

“Midnight,” Pidge succinctly explained. The steps of their protagonist seemed to be muffled. She led them around the corner, nothing popping out and nothing new to be seen. All that was different was the time change and the radio, garbling some foreign language and numbers: “ _ 204863. _ ”

“Maybe drinking before this was a bad decision,” Keith whispered, eyes back on the screen but no less wide. The radio unnerved him. God, the radio unnerved him.

“I feel like it was,” Lance agreed. “But this sobered me up right quick.”

“Anything else to see here, boys?” Pidge spoke in a hushed tone as well, looking around for confirmation before scooting out of there and starting what felt like the millionth loop. Pidge stepped through the door– everything soaked in red– and was suddenly halfway down the hallway.

“Woah, wait, what is happening,” she said, stiffening. “Why am I moving like this?”

The character was no longer taking measured steps, but speeding down with blurry, staggering movements. The zoom button no longer worked– all she could do was run.

“Oh, this is fucke– what is wrong with the pictures?” Hunk had started with a low tone but grew more panicked once he realized what else had changed. “Those are–”

“Eyeballs,” Lance finished in a whisper.

“They’re moving,” Hunk confirmed. “Well, Hunk’s not sleeping tonight.”

“Why are we like this? Why are we like this? Why are we like this?” Lance blubbered, tapping against his thighs. Keith peeked at the scared boy out of the corner of his eye, and started rubbing his back gently, fingertips tracing his spine.

“Just push, let’s go,” he said, looking at Pidge, who followed his instructions and ran through the loop– only to have her position reset, not even coming near the end door. She kept running and running. “I’m afraid but I’m not afraid.”

The character moved, everything confused and hazy, past more eyeball paintings, more red lights, past the phone and the clock still at 0:00 again and again and again and again- running. Running. Lance was just staring with blown pupils, Hunk was hyperventilating, and Pidge and Keith stared with an intense focus, trying to figure out how to escape. 

“Wait–” Keith finally cried out, after several minutes of the group’s silence. “There was a picture there. There’s no picture there.”

“The hole in the bathroom,” Lance sat up now, and Keith allowed his hand to fall off his back. Lance felt colder, somehow. “Oh  _ shit _ , that gloryhole.”

Pidge walked up to where a painting was supposed to be– lo and behold, the hole from the bathroom bored through the drab wall, and Pidge was able to zoom in.

Nothing visually had changed in there. It was still all grubby tile and dirty floors– the fetus still lay in the sink too– but now the radio announcer was back, and he was speaking feverishly now:

“ _ I've got message for all you folks down there in radio land. Now's the time for action. Our society is rotten to the core. I'm talking to all the fine, upstanding folks got their welfare cut, got their jobs pulled out from under 'em. Yeah, you! You know what to do! Now's the time! Do it! _ ”

As the radioman spoke, women and children screamed and– there was the sound of slashing, of gurgling, of choking, of heavy bodies falling. It was the sound of blood. 

In the saddest, smallest, voice, Lance spoke: “What… what?”

“This is the murder from the past?” Pidge postulated, pulling the character back.

Above the peephole, a familiar handwritten script: “ _ No turning back now. _ ”

“Woah, wait, wait, no,” Hunk spoke excitedly, turning towards his friends. Lance looked at him incredulously– how he was not traumatized by what they saw was beyond him. “I think I just made sense of what’s happening. Are you ready for this?”

“Hit me, bro,” Lance said, voice still quiet, snagging his beer from by his feet. 

“The reason you went nuts and killed everyone–”

“You?” Keith interrupted, brow furrowed.

“Yes, you, the character,” Hunk had an expectant smile on his face. “You went nuts and killed everyone in your house because your wife got a job– and the reason she got the job was because she had an affair with the boss, and that’s their baby–”

“There’s no more water!” Lance suddenly shrieked, pointing at the screen and almost spitting out his beer in his haste to yell.

"Good observation, Lance, but I was speaking,” Hunk patiently said, folding his hands in his lap. 

Lance fell into Keith’s side, faux-sobbing. “I’m losing it. Sorry.”

“Well, that’s the backstory,” Hunk finished, sparing a glance to Keith and Lance before shifting his attention back to the television.

“That’s smart, Hunk,” Pidge said. “I buy it.”

“I think there’s more to it,” Keith said thoughtfully, trying to ignore Lance’s antics even though they were half on him. “I mean, that’s not a normal baby. And the numbers… There’s gotta be more.”

Hunk made a thoughtful noise and Pidge finished the loop. The door creaked open and the lights were back to normal– as normal as a haunted house could be, anyway. And the character was back to a blessedly ordinary walking speed. The hallway was quiet. 

Too quiet.

“It’s letting us relax,” Lance said lowly. “The hole is gone.”

“False sense of security,” Keith replied. Lance nodded, cheek rubbing against Keith sleeve. 

“It’s still midnight,” Hunk pointed out the clock blinking 0:00. Lance hummed, sitting up straight and tentatively easing back into the couch, as though he were afraid it was going to jumpscare him too. The run seemed normal until– an odd electric sound, and a flicker of the screen. 

A simulated crack appeared– almost like a bastardized split-screen, then it returned to normal. Pidge jolted a little bit, but continued exploring the well-lit hallway. 

“Hold on,” Hunk said, leaning forward. “Is this glitching out?”

“Are we watching a video? This doesn’t make sense,” Keith said, eyebrows knit together. As the loading sounds became louder, the tension in the group had multiplied. 

“It’s,” Pidge sounded legitimately panicked, and twitched her controller worriedly. She tried to move around, but the screen kept breaking up and glitching. She clicked the buttons, every button, twiddled the joysticks nervously. “It’s resetting my position, guys.”

Suddenly, the hallway went completely still. Even the perpetually squeaking light above the character wasn’t moving anymore. 

In it’s place, a voice rang out, monstrously loud, deep from some unseen demonic form. 

“ _ 204863 _ .”

The four friends gaped open-mouthed at the screen. Hunk seemed to have stopped breathing.

“ _ 204863 _ .” 

“The  _ fuck? _ ” Lance’s grip on Keith’s arm was vice-like, but Keith pried it off to hold it in his own, reminding himself that the radio wasn’t  _ really  _ speaking to him. Christ, this game is terrifying. 

The numbers continued, and a baby started crying. The game seemed to go into overdrive: Keith winced as the odd noises returned, louder than before. Like a CD spinning too fast in an outdated computer. The screen continued to split and blur, brightening and brightening and brightening and–

The television went black, save for one sentence repeated seven times.

_ This game is purely fictitious. it cannot harm you in any way, shape or form. _

“That is,” Lance swallowed, eyes scanning the screen’s several languages. “A suspiciously specific denial.”

The screen went black again, for much longer this time. Hunk had his hands over his eyes and Lance’s hand was shaking in Keith’s.

“Jumpscare?” he asked, in a small voice.

Still, everyone waited silently until the studio’s name popped up on the screen again, and the same words from the opening: “ _ The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you? _ ”

“Wait, wait,” Pidge said as the character blinked their eyes open. Deja vu. “Are we starting over?” 

“No, we’re not starting over, there’s no cockroach,” Lance’s voice grew more confident as he spoke, pointing at the screen. “Do- do you still have the flashlight?”

“Yeah,” Pidge started swinging the camera around the room, exploring what was too dark before. The walls were tattooed with hundreds of tally marks. 

“It makes sense, this is a Kojima game so shit is gonna get fucked up,” Keith mused, impatiently tapping his fingers on his legs. Lance had stopped shaking and let go of Keith’s hand to grab some Oreos. He tried not to be disappointed. 

“Woah, wait, is that a bag?” Pidge had revealed a wooden table, and a brown paper bag, heavy with something and soaked with blood. “What the actual fuck is that?”

“That’s the bag from the trailer,” Lance said through a cookie, voice tense. “It was weirdly talking in the trailer. Why isn’t it talking?”

“Oh, fuck this shit,” Hunk muttered to himself. 

Pidge fiddled with the shoulder buttons again, hunched over, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. The room was silent save for the sound of walking– no more loading sounds, yet– and Hunk’s labored breathing.

“I didn’t realize that this was going to be the worst day of my life,” Keith said pleasantly, reaching for his beer again. 

“Oh, lord jesus,” Hunk sighed from the end of the couch. “This stream better be getting a fuckload of views to justify my impending heart attack.” 

Pidge snorted, then turned her attention to Lance. “Did you say the bag was talking?

“Yeah, in the trailer for this game,” Lance said excitedly. “Or, trailer for the trailer, I guess. I’ll look up what it said.”

“No, guys, focus,” Keith huffed. “We’re just stalling at this point. Let’s push forward. We have to figure out what’s happening.”

“What if the bag is part of it, though?” Lance said, smirking at Keith and waving his phone in front of his face. “I’m just gonna google it. No worries.”

“Just keep going, Pidge,” Keith ignored Lance and encouraged their leader, who was resisting her instincts to search to walk straight through the hallway. “Don’t bother going in the bathroom, there’s nothing in the bathroom.”

“There’s a talking fetus in the bathroom,” Lance muttered, nose buried in his phone. Keith grimaced. 

“Keep  _ going _ .” Pidge moved them through the exit door into another loop, darker and darker still. 

“Well, we have to find the different things, guys,” Hunk said thoughtfully. “If this is all a puzzle. There’s gotta be one thing different.”

Pidge threw the flashlight onto the phone and its table, revealing dusty candies, framed photographs and more empty bottles of beer.

“George Lucas,” Lance muttered, abandoning his research and reaching for his own drink. Keith quirked an eyebrow, following Lance’s finger when he pointed to one of the framed photos on screen. “Kojima’s a fan.”

“Hm. Neat,” Keith said blankly. Pidge examined the crevices again, mumbling under her breath about the goddamn photo pieces. She started moving more quickly, entering the bathroom just to reveal the same grotty floor and grubby bathtub.

“Water’s back,” Keith, Hunk and Lance said in unison. Their eyes met and the three tilted their heads back to finish off their beers. 

“Is there a piece in the water?” Hunk offered, trying to instill some hope in the group again. Pidge just shook her head, heading into the foyer when suddenly a whistling noise began creeping out of their speakers.

A clock began to chime, and Lance jumped. “Oh, the shit?”

“That’s new,” Pidge said, eyebrows now practically in her hairline.

“Keep moving,” Keith ordered. “Get out of here.”

“What does this mean, is our time out? Is time running out?” Hunk said as Pidge practically sprinted under the handwritten scrawl and through the looping door. But instead of offering the comfort of familiarity, the lights had turned red and the noises grew louder. 

“Nooo,” Lance wailed, leaning into Keith now and tucking his face in the crook of his neck. Keith awkwardly reached around to pat his shoulder, earning a tickle of hot breath as Lance chuckled. 

“Yeah, this is much better Keith,” Hunk deadpanned. “Everything’s great. Everything’s coming up Milhouse.” 

“Pidge, come on, keep moving,” Keith said, much less forceful this time. “I don’t wanna find out what happens when the clock strikes twelve.”

“What if we need to?” Pidge asked, but she kept moving forward. The noises had stopped, and the clock’s chimes had not returned yet. Suddenly she yelled: “Son of a bitch!” And with the quick zoom in of the camera, she revealed the last piece of the picture. The crowd went wild. 

“Oh, thank god,” Lance said, still leaning on Keith’s shoulder but angled to better watch the screen.

“We figured out your puzzle, Kojima!” Hunk cheered. “Now what do we do?”

All four of them cocked their heads at the screen. The room was silent for several minutes until Lance remembered they were streaming this live.

“Okay, so,” he spoke slowly, hands mapping out his thought process in front of him. “We’ve quote unquote beat the demo at this point, right? Since we found all the pieces– wait. Drink break.”

“Drink break,” Pidge and Hunk agreed, reaching for their bottles– a new one for each of the boys– and relishing in the icy freshness of cheap beer.

“Ok, Lance,” Pidge said, adjusting her glasses. The character remained unmoving on the screen, staring at the radio now. “Explain.”

“So, I read a little about this before we played,” he admitted. “No spoilers, just that there’s several puzzles. The picture and something else.”

“So?”

“We’re on like… An infinite loop. Nothing will change,” he took another generous sip of his beer. “Unless we solve the puzzle.”

“The picture wasn’t the puzzle,” Keith repeated.

“It’s part of the puzzle, I think,” Lance’s confidence wavered, and he looked between the screen and his friends. 

“Well,” Pidge sighed after a moment. “Let’s keep going, then.” She started a new loop, passing by the clock– still a minute before midnight– and looked with renewed vigor at every potted plant and painting.  

“Okay, what do we know about everything so far?” Hunk asked, trying to parse out the story for himself.

“That it’s fucking scary as shit,” Keith muttered into his beer. Lance laughed, bumping his shoulder with Keith’s. Pidge brought them past the phone and back into the bathroom, earning a groan from the right side of the couch. 

“I’m sick of searching in the bathroom, this place is disgusting,” Hunk said. He slipped his headband off and started playing with the frayed edges, running his hand through his loose bangs.

“Well, I’m sorry for trying to search out all our options,” Pidge snapped back, taking a second to push her glasses up and her own hair back. “I just want to figure out how to beat this game.”

“Yeah, there’s gotta be something we’re not doing right,” Keith said. “We could google it?”

“No,” Hunk and Pidge said in unison, the latter shining the flashlight on the previously ignored mirror. It was covered in something dark and streaky, making it so that you could only see the edges of a white shirt and a jacket.

“Oh, shit, I know who that is,” Lance whispered. Keith elbowed him, earning a grunt and a defensive “I wasn’t going to tell!”

Pidge examined the pill bottles, the sink, the fetus, the toilet, the damp and rank bathtub, the hole in the wall, even the fucking floor tiles before Keith sighed loudly again.

“Fine, all right, let’s go,” Pidge reluctantly directed the character out of the bathroom and past the silent radio before screaming. “Oh my god! Oh my god!”

“What the shit is that?” Lance shouted, literally leaping into Keith’s lap, who caught him and pulled him to his chest instinctively. 

Before them stood the tall figure from before: a woman, in a stained grey dress. where her right eye used to be was a ragged gaping hole– gouged out– and her stomach appeared to be bleeding. And she was twitching violently right in front of them.

Twitching. Inhumanly. Almost like a marionette whose puppeteer was untangling her strings. Even as she seized, her twisted smile and one good eye seemed to focus on the players. 

“Get away, back up!” Lance was yelling in Keith’s ear, one hand holding on to him while the other waved wildly at the frozen Pidge. Keith was sure he was going to have bruises on his bicep from Lance’s vise grip.

“I don’t wanna play this anymore!” Hunk had slipped off the couch, and onto the ground amidst abandoned bottles and bags. He pulled his legs up to his chin and looked ready to cry. 

“I’m tense,” Pidge said emotionlessly. “I cannot move.”

“Well, give me the controller then,” Lance demanded, snatching it out of her hands and backing the character up so that the white woman was shrouded again in darkness. Keith let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and tried to ignore Lance shifting nervously on his lap. 

The room was silent as Lance moved them forward again– Pidge still frozen, Hunk blubbering noiselessly, and Keith was busy praying to god to make him heterosexual for five minutes. Lance’s eyes glinted with a renewed vigor, a focus Keith usually saw him save for CS:GO competitions. 

“If the bitch is still there,” he said quietly, almost to psych himself up. “She’s getting it.”

He moved forward in the darkness, but– thank jesus– the woman in white did not return. Lance rushed through the looping door and sighed in relief, slipping off of Keith’s lap and back to his own couch spot in the process.

“I’ll take the controller back,” Pidge muttered. Lance was more than happy to give her the mantle of responsibility once more. 

“Why are tall people so scary?” Hunk mused from the floor. 

“Holy shit, that was terrifying,” Pidge said with an impressed whistle, now a little more collected. “That was legitimately terrifying.”

Keith looked over to Lance, who seemed to be breathing heavily still. His eyes were wide, but he offered Keith a sincere smile when he caught his eye. 

Pidge continued moving through another loop. Everyone was silent this go around, conserving their energy for scares that seemed to not be coming. Though the atmosphere was still tense, there was a general comfort to the room– most likely from their camaraderie. 

After two more hallway loops in complete silence, Lance was about ready to go mad. He stretched loudly, drawing the attention of his friends. Hunk was still on the floor, studying details of the hallway and muttering theories to Pidge. Her focus was also completely on the screen, moving the camera with precision in each nook and cranny. 

Keith, however, looked as bored as Lance felt. His long eyelashes kept fluttering down, head nodding a bit. How he could be falling asleep in front of this game was beyond Lance, but at least he was bored too. 

Lance grabbed his hand. That certainly woke Keith up. 

With a wicked smile, Lance tugged it and tilted his head towards the door, “Come on, sleepyhead. We’re gonna go get some snacks.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, curious, and followed him out of the room, hands still linked together only by the pinkies. Hunk was busy being frightened by one of the paintings, but Pidge at least made a noise of acknowledgement.

“We had plenty of snacks in the room with us, Lance,” Keith said, rolling his eyes as Lance led them past the kitchen and back towards his bedroom.

“I know, but I thought of something better I’d rather have in my mouth,” Lance said with a wink, making Keith flush and for like the thirtieth time that night thank god the entire house was dark. 

“Lance, you can’t just say stuff like that!” Keith whispered indignantly, afraid that somehow the stream’s viewers were still able to hear him. Lance just laughed and pushed open his bedroom door with his knee. He pulled Keith along to his bed, sitting down on the edge.

Keith followed suit, nervously watching as Lance searched a drawer for something, waiting for him to make the first move. He allowed his eyes flutter shut, for a moment, hoping that Lance’s heated skin would feel as good as he imagined when suddenly something long and hard was being shoved in his hand and–

“Snickers, dude!” Lance said proudly, holding three more king-sized bars in his hands. “I have a whole stash hidden away. Don’t tell Hunk.”

Keith stared incredulously between Lance and the candy bars, and then scoffed, flopping on the bed behind him. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he growled, more to himself than anyone. 

“Wait, do you not like Snickers? I know you’re lactose intolerant, but–”

“No, dipshit, I just thought– oh, never mind,” Keith said, bright red now. He pushed himself off the bed and started heading to the door before Lance’s hand stopped him.

“No, wait, what’s wrong, dude?” Lance’s face was twisted into one of concern, blue eyes searching Keith’s face for a clue. 

“I thought you meant something else,” Keith muttered lowly, more embarrassed than angry now. “With the whole holding hands thing, all night. And snacks. In your bedroom. And… Yeah.” 

“Oh,” and now Lance’s focus was flitting between Keith’s eyes and his lips. He licked his own, voice breathier, nervous. “I, uh, I can see how that would come across that way. Now.”

Keith chuckled a little bit, and then Lance was leaning forward, and Keith felt like he was going to combust. Lance’s eyes were half-closed, nose brushing Keith’s when he whispered, “Do you mind if I…”

Keith didn’t bother to answer and closed the gap between them, earning a appreciative groan from Lance. The taller boy’s hands started running up Keith’s back– Snickers and all– one finding rest on his shoulder and the other on his flushed face. Keith fisted his hands in the fabric of Lance’s grey shirt, pulling him closer, holding him there even when they broke for air. 

“Hm,” Lance said after a moment, smacking his lips. His eyes sparkled, and his smile was brighter than Keith had seen before. “Hm. Better than Snickers, I think.” 

Keith rolled his eyes, and considered punching him in the stomach. But he melted as soon as Lance pulled him in for another smiley kiss. The taller boy finally dropped the candy bars on the bookshelf to his left, leaving his hands free to pin Keith to the wall behind him.

Keith exhaled as his back hit the wall, pulling Lance to him again and trailing his fingers down his sides, resting on his bony hips and fingering the stiff waistband of his cotton shorts. Lance had one hand on Keith’s face, running a thumb over his cheekbone, while the other ran through his hair– surprisingly, pleasantly soft.

Their kisses were feverish, fervent, wet and sloppy. Keith, admittedly, had very little idea what he was doing– just that he liked it. He liked it very, very much. Lance slotted a knee between Keith’s legs, somehow bringing their bodies that much closer together, and Keith moaned into Lance’s mouth. 

Lance took the opportunity to enter, exploring Keith’s mouth with this tongue and running it along his top teeth, noting ones which were a little crooked or out of place. Keith went to return the favor but Lance pulled back, doubling over to cough violently.

“Gently, babe,” Lance looked up at him and smirked once the coughing subsided. Keith turned tomato-red, ready to run out of the room, but Lance’s gentle smile kept him in place– and his wink turned his legs into jelly. Lance grabbed Keith’s hand again and led him back over to the bed, sitting down next to him. 

They just sat for a moment, Lance’s hand trailing up Keith’s arm, his neck, cupping his face and running through his hair. Lance was studying him intently, blue eyes soaking in the experience, and Keith was tempted to just close his eyes and enjoy the chills from every feather-light touch. 

And then Lance’s mouth is on him again, his neck this time, suckling gently right under Keith’s jawbone. He tugged down the collar of Keith’s sweatshirt, leaving teasing lovebites on his prominent clavicle. Keith threw one of his legs onto the bed, awkwardly scooting closer to Lance as he continued kissing up his neck, eyelashes tickling the sensitive skin.

Keith ran his hands through Lance’s hair and tugged up, bringing Lance’s mouth back to his, chapped lips slotting together and tongues fighting for dominance. Keith kissed like he did everything else– fiery, competitively, teeth clacking against Lance’s. 

But he was willing to learn. He imitated his partner, nosing down Lance’s face to kiss his neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks and biting gently against the stubbly skin. Lance moaned as Keith’s tongue pressed against the fresh hickeys, fingering the bottom of Keith’s shirt and brushing against the pale skin revealed there.

Suddenly– a scream. The boys froze before remembering where they were, why they were there, and that Hunk was outside playing the scariest game of the year. Lance laughed into Keith’s mout h, the hot happiness more intoxicating than the beer.  

Lance’s long fingers grabbed Keith’s skinny hips, lifting him up and adjusting under him so that Keith’s legs  were better wrapped around his waist. Keith instinctively ground against Lance’s shorts, searching for friction. The little noises Lance was making were going straight to Keith’s cock. 

Now it was Lance’s turn to direct Keith’s mouth back to his own, grabbing his chin and nipping at his chapped lips. Keith wrapped his legs even tighter around Lance, sitting properly in his lap now. He could feel Lance’s hard cock rub against his own and allowed a whine to escape into Lance’s mouth, rubbing, begging for friction, to be touched.  

Lance seemed to have the same idea, breaking them apart just long enough to lay down, Keith running his hands up Lance’s grey shirt and exploring the smooth caramel skin under him. He ground further against Lance, a high-pitched keening sound coming from the boy under him. 

Keith stared in awe at the boy under him, trying not to overthink the situation and lose the heat of the moment but– it was so hard not to stop, try to save this picture in his head. Lance laying beneath him, outline of a hard cock in baby blue shorts and shirt riding up to reveal soft hair and glowing skin. His hair was mussed, lips swollen and red– but his eyes were wide open, watching Keith with reverence and lust and– 

Keith leaned back in, brushing his nose against Lance’s before kissing him. Their lips met gently, almost chastely, contrasting with their bodies rutting together. Lance breathed against his lips, whispering his name like a prayer. Hotter and hotter. Keith fisted his hands in Lance’s shirt; Lance did the same in Keith’s hair. And with a moan Keith felt himself pushed over the edge, spilling into his shorts. One fierce kiss later and Lance did the same. 

It only took a moment of them lying together, breathing in sync, before Lance started to laugh.

“I,” he said, red lips parted. “I can’t believe that just happened. I feel like I’m fourteen.”

Keith tried to avoid eye contact but Lance gently grabbed his chin, pulling them together for another long, slow kiss. He shifted to his side, pulling Keith with him and circling him in his long arms. Keith nuzzled into the crook of Lance’s neck, exhaling softly, listening to the thrumming of Lance’s heartbeat. 

Their breathing slowed. Lance muttered something about feeling gross. 

“But I don’t want to get up,” he said louder, more forcefully, hot breath tickling the shell of Keith’s ear. “I don’t want to let go of you.”

Keith nodded in Lance’s neck, not trusting his voice quite yet. He felt like he could lie here forever. 

“We’ve been gone for probably thirty minutes,” he finally spoke, forcing his eyes open. “We should… We should go back.”

Lance whined, tightening his grip on Keith before relenting. “Let me get you some new pants,” he laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as he slowly got up from the bed. He rummaged through a drawer while Keith sat up, trying to ignore the horrid wet spot in his jeans. A toss of grey fabric his way– ”Here you go,” Lance said cheerfully, already tugging off his own shorts and boxers and replacing them with a green pair. Keith tried not to blush

“I’ll let you get changed,” Lance threw a smile his way and stepped out of the room, allowing Keith blessed privacy only for a moment. 

“Hey, Keith,” Lance said, popping his head back in through the door. Keith tightened the drawstring on the sweatpants, looking up hopefully. “Don’t forget the Snickers!”

Keith sighed and stuffed the bars in his– Lance’s– pockets. He was trying not to be dejected, trying to focus his fear on the game and not on the lanky boy walking in front of him, trying to regulate his breathing, to ignore the hickies that burned on his chest and the warm feeling still in the pit of his stomach.

“Hey,” Lance whispered conspiratorially, wrapping a hand around Keith’s waist and pulling him close again. He pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and Keith couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry, I just wanted to do that one more time.”

“You can do it as often as you like,” Keith said, nervously dipping his head, hand tentatively reaching for Lance’s. 

Lance just gave him a bright, honest, hopeful smile and nodded, kissing Keith _just_ _ one  _ more time. “That’s– wow, awesome. Great. I mean, we can’t in there. Right now. But. I appreciate the offer. I  _ will  _ take you up on that offer.”

Keith just chuckled, heart swelling, and pressed himself closer to Lance. A hug like water to a parched man. And Lance pushed the door open and motioned Keith through.  

Pidge was the first to speak when they reentered the tv room, Lance’s hands on Keith’s shoulders. A conga line of two.

“Welcome back, gentlemen. Now that you two are done getting snacks,” she waggled her eyebrows, making Lance laugh. “Can you come help us figure out how to beat this game?”

“You’re still trying to figure out this bs?” Lance said through his giggles. Keith also laughed, but nervously, fiddling with the collar of his sweatshirt. Pidge was being too kind– but they were streaming. Makes sense she’d save the tearing apart for private time. 

“Yeah, and honestly, the fear is now out of my soul,” Pidge said, moving her character through what felt like the thousandth god damn hallway loop.

“I don’t know, I’m still scared,” Hunk piped up now. He caught Lance’s eye and gave him a suggestive smile. Lance just laughed more, especially when he saw how red Keith was getting. He nudged Keith’s knee with his own and offered a smile, growing brighter when Keith gave one back. 

“Apparently we have to do something to trigger baby cries, or laughs,” Pidge was saying while Lance and Keith made eyes at each other. “But I have no idea.” 

“We could google it,” Lance offered. The other three immediately cried out: “No.” 

But it did not take much for their resolve to waver– three loops and only one baby laugh later, Pidge turned to Lance. 

“Just google the fucking puzzle.

Lance tried not to gloat too much while pulling his laptop out of his bag thrown haphazardly on the floor. It first opened to Twitter– their streams had gained quite a following, since the group was so animated. Lance tried to stifle his laughter at one reading “so anyone else notice keith and lance switched pants halfway thru the stream... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)”

Ooh, Keith would love to see some of these. 

But– Pidge was on her fourth loop and very impatient. A quick google search later had Lance lit blue by the Macbook screen staring disbelievingly at a walkthrough. 

“Okay, okay,” Lance said incredulously, scrolling down the forum page. “There is  _ no  _ way you can figure this out by yourself.”

“Read me the instructions,” Pidge said, readying herself. “We’re going for another loop.”

“Make sure your mic is plugged in,” and Hunk jumped up to double check their set-up, bringing back a box of Cheez-its with him. 

“Seriously, this is next level bonkers,” Lance rested his head on Keith’s shoulder again, chin to clavicle, and he shifted the Macbook so it was on both of their thighs. “We’re close in terms of the plot but… How the fuck you get this secret ending is beyond me.”

“It’s like an ARG,” Keith was awestruck. “This is such a Kojima move. It’s amazing.”

“Okay, let’s just do it,” Pidge was practically human adrenaline by this point, tapping her foot impatiently.

“So it says you have to wait until clock strikes midnight, and then walk ten steps,” Lance’s finger traced under the words on the computer screen. His eyes kept jumping between that and the television. “You should hear a baby laugh then.”

The clock chimed, and Pidge began walking, counting aloud as she slowly moved just to the infamous jumpscare corner. She gasped: “There’s baby one.”

“Okay, we have to wait until after the ghost voice. We have to let her possess us, or something,” Lance didn’t seem as confident with this step. 

“You have to say a name,” Keith read, Lance’s hair tickling his cheeks as they moved. “Jareth?”

“And then not move and wait for the controller to buzz,” Lance finished for him, nodding as best he could with his chin still on Keith’s shoulder.

Pidge nodded, and the sounds of haunting began again– high whistling, a woman crying, and wind rattling announced the presence of Lisa. Lance gave the signal– a single finger gun– and Pidge spoke.

“Jareth. Jareth. Jareth. Jareth. Jareth.” 

The baby’s laugh was louder that time. 

“Oh my god, I got chills,” Hunk whispered. Lance nodded, everyone silent. Pidge suddenly yelped and kicked over one of the empty bottles by her feet.

“Holy shit, guys, my controller is vibrating,” she said excitedly, holding the buzzing plastic higher, tight in her hands. “It’s moving like crazy.”

“Don’t move,” Lance warned, glancing between the instructions and the screen. Suddenly: not a cry, but the sound of a baby’s laughter. And the phone.

The phone fucking ringing.

“Oh, my god,” Pidge yelled, throwing her head back and running a hand down her face. Hunk took a celebratory drink before whooping excitedly. 

“Holy fuck, dude!” Lance laughed almost hysterically. He turned to Keith and started shaking his shoulder, grin blinding. Keith wanted to kiss that stupidly beautiful smile off his face. “We did it! We did it!”

“Hurry up and answer the phone, Pidge,” Keith demanded. God, this excitement was contagious.

Pidge moved slowly, as though afraid to break the spell they had just cast. She zoomed in on the phone and a deep voice rang out: “You’ve been chosen.”

“I am going to fucking die,” Lance said, settling back into the couch and pulling his legs up under him. His eyes were wide with a cautious excitement, and his hand shyly searched around the couch until he found Keith’s, linking their fingers together. 

“Go, go go go, right now,” Hunk encouraged Pidge, who directed the character with a careless abandon at this point. Through the hallway, down the stairs, out the door, and then everything was black. 

“We did it,” Lance whispered, a wondrous mix of relieved and intoxicated and electrified.

“Everybody be quiet,” Keith responded lowly, earning a hand squeeze from Lance. The room was silent, the screen was black, and then a familiar voice:

_ “Dad was such a drag. Every day he'd eat the same kind of food, dress the same, sit in front of the same kind of games... Yeah, he was just that kind of guy. But then one day, he goes and kills us all!  _

_ “He couldn't even be original about the way he did it. I'm not complaining... I was dying of boredom anyway, But guess what? I will be coming back, and I'm bringing my new toys with me.” _

A flashlight revealed asphalt and the sounds of walking. The camera suddenly panned up. 

“Oh, shit,” Keith breathed reverently. “Silent Hill.”

“This game looks fucking amazing,” Lance whispered to Keith, eyes bright with excitement. The town of Silent Hill lay before them, and a man started walking in front of the camera before Hideo Kojima’s name faded onto the screen.

“This game looks good,” Hunk said, awed. “This looks too good.”

“I’m legit busting a nut,” Lance muttered almost to himself. His thumb was running over Keith’s, keeping time with the man walking. The yellow streetlights of Silent Hill flickered. Guillermo del Toro’s name appeared as well.

“And this is on engine,” Pidge said excitedly. “I read somewhere they scaled the resolution down, too, to make it look more like an indie studio made it.” 

“Nut. Busted.” 

And the protagonist turned around: Norman Reedus. The four friends all gasped excitedly, Lance even squealing and stomping his socked feet excitedly. Lance shivered, Keith noticing they had matching goosebumps from the music that started seeping in. 

The iconic guitar strumming tore the four players from their reverie, and each sat back into the couch, exhaling. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Lance finally said, eyes closed and a stupid smile on his face. He leaned his head onto Keith’s shoulder. “We did it! I can’t believe we did it.”

“That was terrifying and horrible but man,” Hunk said, awestruck still. “That trailer might have been worth it.”

“Might have? That trailer was totally worth it,” Pidge replied excitedly, Lance’s computer on her lap with windows of theories and gameplay videos freshly tabbed open. “This game is going to be tight.”

“Man, I won’t be able to sleep for years after a full game like that,” Hunk said, laughing. “I might not even be able to sleep tonight.”

“We ought to try, though,” Keith was drained and it showed in his voice. “Shall we leave it here?”

“Probably. This is the scary games squad signing off. Thank you everyone for joining us, I hope you enjoyed this million year adventure, and we will see you on the flip side!” Lance gave an energetic salute to their webcam before standing up and sprinting to the Macbook on the speaker. The camera light was off– and everyone truly relaxed.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Lance cracked his back while he stood. “But I am beat. I vote we clean up tomorrow.” 

The group nodded their agreement and started meandering to their rooms, Pidge muttering something about searching for more jumpscares in the morning. Everyone wished their goodnights, and closed their bedroom doors but–

A hand stopped Keith’s from closing, and almost made him screech.

“Do you, uh,” Lance’s whispered voice seeped through the crack, with a shy smile. “Do you mind if we… I don’t want to sleep alone.”

And Keith couldn’t help but smile at that. “Let me get my pajamas.”

Not five minutes later, the pair were nestled in Lance’s bed again. Lance’s shirtless form cradled Keith, whose head rested in the crook of his neck near familiar and fresh lovebites. 

“Man, the part with those eyeballs,” Lance sighed out, breath tickling Keith’s ear. He carded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Keith’s neck. “There were tears in my eyes.”

“The puppet lady was the worst part,” Keith mumbled into Lance’s neck, leaving a kiss where his words went. 

“I don’t think any words can describe the true terror of seeing Lisa for the first time,” Lance agreed. They laid silently for a moment before Lance spoke again. “Best kind of night though. We get scared, and we bone.”

Keith snorted, which just encouraged Lance’s tomfoolery: “You think Lisa would come get us, or is she only mad in that house?”

“She’s only malevolent to the people who hurt her,” Keith suggested. Another open mouth kiss on Lance’s neck, devoid of lust but warm. “Honestly she’d probably tuck us in and wish us good night.

“She’s probably pretty reasonable, actually,” Lance laughed, a real belly laugh, rubbing Keith’s arm and pulling him a little closer. “Let us cuddle with the fetus.”

“The kidney bean with a face,” Keith laughed too. 

“The kidney bean deserves love,” Lance reminded him, burying his face in Keith’s hair.

Keith yawned, eyes totally closing now. “Slightly wrinkled, mildly damp.”

“You’re silly,” the yawn was contagious. Lance planted a kiss to Keith’s forehead before shutting his eyes as well. The radio played softly, wind creaking the frames of the house, but the men still drifted off. And their breathing slowed in tandem.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on tumblr @ breadpoetsociety and twitter @ breadpoetsociet


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